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William Ward, Brujah
Name: William Ward Race: Vampire Clan: Brujah Generation: 8th Age(Biological): 32 Age(Chronological): 83 Concept: Irish Intellectual/Fighter Nature: ? Demeanor: Gallant Description: A red-haired man, five-foot-nine, with broad shoulders and a handsome face. His hair hangs just above his shoulders, framing bright green eyes. He's somewhat pale, but dresses quite well, often in a suitjacket or tailor-made trenchcoat. ATTRIBUTES Str/Dex/Stam: 4/3/3 Cha/Man/App: 3/2/3 Perc/Int/Wits: 2/2/2 ABILITIES Talents: Alertness/Athletics/Brawl: 2/1/2 Dodge/Empathy/Expression: 1/1/1 Intimidation/Leadership/Streetwise: 3/0/0 Subterfuge: 2 Skills: Animal Ken/Crafts/Drive: 0/0/0 Etiquette/Firearms/Melee: 1/1/3 Performance/Security/Stealth: 0/0/1 Survival: 0 Knowledges: Academics/Computer/Finance: 3/0/3 Investigation/Law/Linguistics: 0/0/0 Medicine/Occult/Politics: 2/0/0 Science: 0 DISCIPLINES Potence(1) Celerity(1) Presence(1) Obfuscate(1) BACKGROUNDS Generation(4) Retainers(1) Resources(5) Status(2) Herd(2) VIRTUES Conscience(2) Self Control(4) Courage(4) MERITS/FLAWS: Deep Sleeper(-1) Enchanting Voice(+2) Eidetic Memory(+2) Unbondable(+3) Willpower: 7 Humanity: 7 Blood Pool: 14/14 FREEBIE EXPENDITURE 3 to raise Willpower from 4 to 7 5 to raise Resources from 0 to 5 2 to raise Status from 0 to 2 3 to purchase Unbondable. 2 to purchase Eidetic Memory. 1 to purchase Enchanting Voice(-1 to price from Deep Sleeper flaw) 7 to raise Obfuscate from 0 to 1 2 to raise Herd from 0 to 2 1 to raise Humanity from 6 to 7 EXPERIENCE EXPENDITURE BIOGRAPHY: William Ward was born in 1929, to a comfortably well-off Irish couple in New York City. His father was a factory foreman, and made good, solid money, while his mother did her best to supplement their income working as a nanny for others. Neither had that much time for their son, but they certainly helped him as he grew. He always had a roof over his head, food on the table, and they even helped him on his way to college, down at the nation's capital. He wasn't the brightest of men, but he got through college with hard work and dedication, whereas others surpassed it with natural brilliance. He'd not started college at the same age folks did in modern nights, instead getting a start in his twenties, which was the soonest his parents could afford to help him as much as he needed. He decided to celebrate, and began a habit of going to the seedy bars in downtown D.C., getting liberally drunk and carousing with a few school chums, or bar flies he'd met. He didn't totally neglect his career, that was -why- he'd gone into college after all. However, he was unfocused..and one night, things got out of hand. He'd done his best to avoid getting into brawls with the toughs in those bars, knowing that some of them came armed, and not wanting to meet the pearly gates just yet. However, such wise considerations didn't make much sense when he was drunk off his rocker. He made the mistake of getting involved with a particularly nasty brawl, nearly unhinging one man's jaw with a chair. He came out on top of that fight, only to feel a sickening -thrust- in his back, and hear an equally unappetizing Schlurtch. He turned, seeing a blonde woman ducking back behind the bar and running out the back of the establishment, clutching a bloody dagger. Too late, he realizes, and slumps to the ground, the lights already dimming. That should have been the end of Ward. However, he felt something holding him back. He strained, but couldn't escape, and found himself dragged back towards the darkness..away from the light above. He opened his eyes, lurching upwards with a gasp. He was in an alley, a few streets away from the bar, and a man stood over him. He recognized him, a fellow Irishman, but one of the particularly seedy lowlifes that had an aura of menace. No one ever thought to draw a knife on -him-, mostly out of fear he'd pull out a revolver and blow their brains out. That was just his image, but no one messed with him all the same. The man grunted.. "Some guts you had back there. Not many would take on three bruisers, even as soused to the gills. Fewer would -win-. Welcome to hell, boyo.." The next few years were hell, sure enough. He had to cut his ties, collect his assets, and spend month after month being drug around by his new Sire, until he was content to loose him and let him fend for himself. He deeply disliked the image of his clan, finding the idea of a group of 'rowdy vampires' to be downright dissappointing. He went to college to do better than that..and yet the one time he sunk below his lofty standards, he got slotted into the same category as bat-wielding thugs, in vampiric society. He made it a point to refrain from violence unless it was, of course, the sensible thing to do. He dressed well, and spoke eloquently, and made it rich like he'd always dreamed, investing some ill-gotten gains from one encounter or another until he had quite the pile to work with. Years passed, then decades. In the early 80's, he saw a surprisingly familiar face on the obituaries...the woman who'd knifed him all those years ago, consigning him to his fate. He'd not had the time or opportunity to track her down and pay her back, and his Sire had discouraged it anyways, saying it might draw attention. Seems she'd died, car crash or some malarky. More interestingly, she was survived by a daughter, Wendy, now in her thirties, almost the same age as her mother, when she'd done him in. He grins...unlife did have its perks. Had he just been wounded and survived, by this time he'd be too weak to do anything. It was simple enough to arrange. A question here and a few words there, and he had her address, and a few times when she'd be home. He got in easily enough, his quick tongue and charming looks going far, as always. She looked very like her mother...but he held himself back. Killing her was -not- his goal. Death was pointless, most of the time. It solved some problems, yes, but her corpse wouldn't provide any solace. He instead ghouled her on the spot, forcing her to drink his blood. All had gone according to plan, the one slight hitch being that the obituary hadn't mentioned that his killer had a grand-daughter as well. Never one to leave loose ends untied, he ghouled her as well, training both in several forms of martial combat, until he felt that they could both defend him capably during the day. Wendy usually accompanied him in public, her good looks making for excellent arm candy, while her skill with weapons made her inherently useful, in inherently bad situations. Thirty years later, and William's had his fill of the D.C. circle, and wants to see life in another city. He's heard Florida was a great place, if one could get past the heat...